


when you put it like that

by Alethia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Blow Jobs, Comment Fic, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Nate POV, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Post-Canon, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-16
Updated: 2009-07-16
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6806746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the glasses, see. Well. And the slippers. The combination of the glasses and the slippers and really, Nate couldn't be held accountable for these things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you put it like that

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the fictionalized characters in the HBO miniseries, _Generation Kill_ , as written by Ed Burns and David Simon and as portrayed by Alexander Skarsgard, Stark Sands, and others. It is a work of fiction, ergo it never happened.
> 
> Picture-based comment!fic, originally posted [here](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/533943.html?thread=15573431#t15573431).

It was the glasses, see. Well. And the slippers. The combination of the glasses and the slippers and really, Nate couldn't be held accountable for these things. 

He'd been good. Really good. There'd been a gap between his return trip home and his lease on the house he'd shared with VJ, but that wasn't an issue because he could just crash at a motel. It was fine. 

But then Brad found out—of course—and gave Nate that look and then somehow his crap was at Brad's place. Nate suspected Ray. All the talking tricked you into forgetting his ninja skills. 

Still, it was...fine. Brad had an extra room and Nate was good with sleeping on a futon on the floor. It beat baked concrete any day.

Nate was assured of this and he was fine, dammit, right until he walked into the kitchen to find Brad reading the paper, wearing glasses. And slippers. With cats on them.

After that, well, who could blame him?

"This is an intriguing morning ritual," Brad said conversationally from where he was perched on top of the kitchen table. After Nate had pushed him onto it. "Not that I'm complaining."

Nate stopped from where he was licking at Brad's collarbone—his wife-beater did nothing to conceal it; Nate couldn't help himself—and met Brad's eyes. 

Through glasses, which was just—

"There are cats on your slippers."

Brad raised an eyebrow. Behind glasses, _Christ_. He was remarkably calm given that his blue boxers were tented and all Nate had done was kiss him, push him onto the table, and start sucking on his collarbone.

Okay, maybe that warranted a hard-on.

"They were a gift from my niece. She's not old enough to have anticipated the pussy jokes."

No, she probably just wanted to outfit Uncle Brad in fluffy kitty goodness. Brad inspired that in children.

"I'm not thinking of pussy," Nate said. 

Brad shifted and rubbed his knee against Nate's very hard cock. "I'd hope not."

Nate gripped the edge of the table and shut his eyes. He...really should not be that far gone. That was just sad. 

"No, no, don't mind me," Brad said after a moment, making Nate open his eyes and focus.

On Brad, who had one finger rubbing at his collarbone—there'd be a mark there for sure—a finger which was even now covered in the remnants of his _Wall Street Journal_.

"You've got ink on your fingers," Nate said.

Brad looked at one hand, unconcerned. "Astute observation," he said dryly.

"That'll really make a mess of your white sheets."

Brad looked back to Nate and smirked. And with the glasses it was just—"Now why would I be touching my sheets with such hands?"

"You're right. Better for everyone to just stay here." That settled, Nate shoved Brad's wife-beater up his chest and lowered his mouth so he could suck at Brad's skin. He scraped his teeth along the muscles of Brad's stomach, then paused to flick his tongue into Brad's bellybutton. 

Brad sucked in a sharp breath. 

Next thing he knew, Brad held Nate's face in his hands and just _claimed_ his mouth—tongue thrusting in to tangle with Nate's, a heated exploration that had Nate moaning and scrabbling for more skin within seconds. Brad refused to let him go, kept biting at Nate's lips, sucking on one and then the other before kissing him deeply again.

Nate grabbed his thighs and hauled Brad close, right to the edge of the impressively sturdy table, close enough to grind their cocks together as Brad tongue-fucked his mouth. His glasses pressed uncomfortably between them. Nate intercepted the hand on its way to move them.

"No, leave them on," he panted against Brad's mouth.

Brad smirked. "Like those, do you?" He wrapped his legs around Nate's hips and kind of rocked into him. Nate heard the dull thwap that indicated a slipper had lost its fight with gravity.

Nate groaned and moved with Brad, but wait, that wasn't what he wanted. With a frustrated sound he stepped back—

Or tried to, anyway. Brad's legs were solid around him, didn't give an inch. Nate shoved at them, to no avail.

Nate could see a question in Brad's eyes and—right, he could've misinterpreted that, Nate had kinda jumped him out of nowhere and all. So Nate leaned close again, looked Brad in the eyes and said, "I want to get on my knees and suck your cock."

Brad blinked. Behind _glasses_.

He let his legs fall, doubt effectively extinguished. "When you put it like that."

Nate quirked a grin at him and did just as he said—he dropped to his knees and released Brad's cock from its confines. He didn't tease, just sucked the head into his mouth and looked up at Brad.

Who still wore his glasses, lips parted, all shiny and red, and who looked down at Nate like he was some kind of revelation.

Nate sucked, cheeks hollowing, and Brad made a soft sound, hand coming to grip the back of Nate's neck. "Fuck, Nate."

Nate hmmed and went down, adjusting to the feel of him in his mouth—he hadn't done this in a _long_ time—then back up, tongue playing along the underside, sweeping over the head. He established an easy rhythm, sinking down and then back up, taking a little more each time. No way he'd be deep-throating today; that had been a _very_ long time ago and Nate didn't want to end up choking.

Of course Brad was well-hung; Nate hadn't expected anything less.

Not that he'd been thinking about this.

The next time he sank down, lips almost meeting the fist he had wrapped around the base, Brad's hand tightened in the hair at the back of his neck. It had grown enough now; Brad could do that.

Nate hmmed a question; Brad shuddered all over.

Now _that_ was promising.

" _You_ —have done this before," Brad muttered.

Nate pulled off, stroking to mollify Brad in the interim, and grinned. "What, I can't be a prodigy?"

"Is that what you are, Nate? A cock-sucking prodigy?" As he asked, he brushed his fingers over Nate's lips, no doubt swollen and redder than usual. 

Nate nipped at them, then grinned when Brad pressed at his mouth, undeterred. "Could be. Either that or the boyfriend I had in college." 

Brad's eyes darkened and his hand went to the back of Nate's neck again. "Stop dicking around," he said, gruff.

Nate smirked and sketched off a piss-poor salute. "Yes, sir." He bent his head before Brad could respond, took him in his mouth and went all the way down, humming along the way. He rolled Brad's balls in one hand, then explored just behind, making Brad gasp and widen his legs even more. Nate quickened his pace, stroking a finger back and forth behind Brad's balls, intent on driving Brad out of his mind.

He lasted an admirably long time. Eventually, though, Brad gave up on control. He grabbed Nate's head and thrust up into his mouth. Nate had been expecting it, pinned a hip with one hand, but for the most part let Brad set the rhythm. He let Brad _use_ his mouth, looked up and watched Brad bite his lip, felt it when he faltered, the moaned "Nate," all the warning he got before Brad came in his mouth.

Nate swallowed, somewhat inelegant about it, but Brad didn't seem to mind. He grunted and pulled Nate up, licking at the come on his chin and then following the trail into Nate's mouth. He got a hand in Nate's pants, gripped his cock hard and tight, and then _Nate_ was the one moaning, panting "fuck, Brad, yes," into Brad's mouth as he jerked him into an all-too-quick release.

Obviously, they needed to do that again. A lot. 

Nate panted, propped against Brad and the table. He watched as Brad pulled his hand out. At Brad's tongue lapping the come from his fingers, Nate hissed Brad's name. His dick twitched.

_Fuck_.

Brad grinned, wicked, then pulled Nate into another kiss, seeming unconcerned by the spilled coffee, newspaper a shambles, the structural integrity of his table...

Actually, Nate didn't care about those things, either. Huh.

"That's not sanitary," Nate said eventually.

Brad asked the question with his eyes, so Nate waved to his hand. "You still had newspaper ink all over your hands."

"You object more to me ingesting ink than your come?" Brad asked.

"Well, when you put it like that it sounds silly."

Brad grinned and pulled Nate into a sloppy, wet, involved kiss. When he pulled back he smirked. "There, now we're both unsanitary. Come along, sir." He hopped off the table and headed toward his room, still wearing only one slipper. "Out of the goodness of my heart I will allow you to use my shower so you can scrub away the evils wrought by reading the paper. I'll even wash mine, too. I promise they'll be spotless before I shove them inside you and make you moan like a little bitch." His eyes glittered when he looked back at Nate.

"Well, when you put it like that."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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